alav ha-shalom (may his memory be for a blessing)
by displayheartcode
Summary: Beyond any blessing and song, Bucky Barnes lives. A character study of a Jewish Bucky Barnes


**AN: I don't even remember researching this much for my Bat Mitzvah.**

 **True story, someone came by my door and intended to convert me as I was writing this.**

 **Let me know how you guys like this, I've rarely worked with this tense.**

 **Disclaimer** : I have no connections with Kirby, Simon, and anyone involved in the MCU.

 **Title** : alav ha-shalom (may his memory be for a blessing)

 **Word Count:** 900

 **Summary** : Beyond any blessing and song, Bucky Barnes lives. A character study of a Jewish Bucky Barnes

* * *

Bucky is supposed to end with saying the words _Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad._

That is because he is supposed to die.

Instead, he says nothing, and only sees the world above disappearing in the swirling snow, as everything gets lost in the memory of whiteness that eventually turns into blood and shadows that will forever stain him.

His soul, his _yechidah,_ doesn't die, but the James of his soul does at this moment. In the end, this makes all the difference.

Later on in life when the blood is just a pink smear on his palms, he wonders why he never said those last words then.

 **o**

The sages say that there are five parts to a soul, and Bucky feels that this is true.

Most of his soul has been ripped from him, leaving nothing but a shivering corpse that is barely holding onto what is left of his humanity.

There's a spark, the sages also speak of this, a single spark of a soul that is just an ember left from what was once creation thrived from. Bucky clings to his spark, feeling it burn and fester under his skin as memories leap up like fish from a rushing stream.

These are the things that used to be his soul.

A hand smoothing back his hair, whispers of condolences reaching his ears —the smell of candles and fresh bread in the air as _Abba's_ booming voice reaches every space of their small kitchen— _Steve_ —his countenance like the sun even when bloodied and bruised—his mother singing songs in the early mornings—just a boy, they were just two boys against everything—his sister reaching out for him— _till the end of the line_.

Memories upon memories are played over each other, erasing the feeling of a rifle in his fingers, the snapping of a neck bone in his hands, the coppery scent of blood seeping into his skin. The actions of death are him; for he has become something else entirely that all men fear.

For a flickering moment, the Winter Solider is Bucky again.

But like all moments, they are too fleeting and they fade all too easily.

Bucky dies (in gunfire, in pain, in rage) each time the Winter Soldier lives.

 **o**

He is—

(No, not Bucky, not _Zimnij Soldát_ , not Sergeant Barnes, not James, not a solider, not—what is he? Who is he?)

He is lost in the woods.

That is what he is.

There are stories hiding here: tales of angels holding their power tight into flesh to appear like strangers, a man clever enough to trick demons and humans alike, a village known for their fools, a creation made from the earth and the divine in man to protect and serve. In between these stories are the dead that he helped slaughter. There is the couple that are dressed finely, the man's face frozen in one of recognition. There is a man slumped over his wife's arms, she is screaming for help. There is a—there are—so much pain, so much suffering—too many by his hands alone.

The ghosts of his childhood and war and people are chasing each other through the trees, and the corpse is trapped with them.

 **o**

The Talmud says that he who has saved a single life, has saved the entire world.

In that case, he has destroyed countless worlds.

 **o**

Bucky is supposed to die, but he kills others instead.

 **o**

Somewhere in an alleyway in America, there hunches a man in a stained coat. His hair is long and matted with dirt and rain, and he keeps an arm close to his side. He is mumbling words, begging to the empty air in front of him with his eyes wide and bright.

Between the fever and the hallucinations, he thinks he is dying again.

He doesn't know that more words have already been said decades ago near an empty plot of earth, or of the candle that is lit for so many years. He doesn't know that his aged sister still comes by to talk to his grave, leaving a rock for each visit.

He says the words for once. The holiness of them breaking him free from haze of pain temporarily, he knows them still.

" _Sh…sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai_..."

He can't finish the prayer.

He breaks down crying.

 **o**

Every _Shabbos,_ the prayers for the children are said.

May God give you the blessings of Ephraim and Menasseh, May God give you the blessings of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. May the Lord bless you and guard over you…

… _Y'varechecha Adonai V'yish'm'recha. Ya'er Adonai panav eilecha vichuneka. Yisa Adonai panav eilecha v'yasem l'cha shalom…_

He imagines his mother placing her hand on his head as she's saying the words. He remembers her briefly, and for that second, everything else, too.

 **o**

In Judaism, there is no Hell. The world beyond _, Olam Ha-ba_ , is merely being in one world and to the next. A simple way of moving between and beyond.

It is a leap of faith to let yourself go into the unknown.

He does that; he leaps and he's Bucky again.

He's in a hospital room somewhere else, and Steve is also there, holding his hand.

 **o**

At the start, he's a squalling newborn that is eight days old.

So full of life and _ruach_ , his redemption starts there.


End file.
